The Scarecrows Of Fools
by Roaming Fool
Summary: A brief phone call between Sam and Crowley clarifies a single point of view on the consequences of our actions.


_The Scarecrows Of Fools_

Roaming Fool

**Disclaimer: **_Supernatural_ and it's associated characters are the property of the CW Network and Kripke Enterprises. I receive no financial compensation from this work of fiction.

The phone in his hand buzzed, the vibration tingling through his fingertips and up his arm as he stared at the number on his caller I.D. For a moment all he could do was stare, before stabbing the 'accept' button with his finger and putting the phone to his ear with a snarled, "Crowley."

"You do know, darling, when a guy doesn't bother to return your multiple calls, either magical or mundane, that means he's just not that into you?" Crowley's husky tones were tinny and hard to hear, as if he'd only just stepped away from a noisy room.

Sam's hand clenched on the phone. "What have you done with my brother?"

Crowley's sigh echoed over the speaker, crackling with disdain. "Is this really why you've been bugging the hell out of me? Torturing my people, blowing up my phone all hours of the day and night - "

"Crowley!"

" - and for what, exactly?"

Sam did his best to breathe through the rage that Crowley's smug tone stoked, managing to snarl out his accusation. "I saw the tape from the gas station, you

stupid son of a bitch! I saw his eyes." He pauses to breathe around the rage, for a moment, hearing nothing but silence on the other end. "What have you done to him?"

"What have _I_ done to him?" Crowley's voice was incredulous. "Absolutely nothing, you overgrown child! If you're looking for someone to blame for what Dean's become, I suggest you go get a mirror."

"Enough of your _crap_, you - "

Crowley's voice cut through the speaker again, clearer, as though he'd stepped into a quiet room. "No, Sam. I've had enough of _your_ crap. In case you've forgotten, I was there for that enlightening conversation you had with Dean, just before he went and got himself killed. Do you recall?"

Sam paused, closing his eyes with impatience, "What the hell are you - "

"Let me refresh your memory. 'I know you're our best shot at taking down Metatron. No matter the consequences.' Any of this ringing a bell?" Crowley drawled. "Well, here are the consequences, and I don't really feel like indulging your need for a punching bag just because you didn't think things through."

Sam froze. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Another rasped sigh at the end of the line. "Everything is always about _you_, isn't it? Poor, baby Sammy gets himself into trouble and who has to pull him out? Big brother Dean. Story of your lives, really. Dean pulls your ass out of the fire by whatever means necessary and you have the luxury of complaining afterward about the morality of his choices, right?"

Sam's vision began to haze crimson around the edges. "Don't you pull your bullshit with me, you - "

"What, telling you the truth?"

"Your version of the truth has nothing to do with the fact that you shoved a demon in my brother's body!"

"The only demon inside Dean is his own."

Sam finally paused, the red haze of anger washing away with with icy feeling of fear beginning at his fingertips, again. "What are you -?"

"As I said. Consequences. Don't try to play dumb with me." Crowley's disdain came over the speaker, louder than that thrum of a bass in the background. "You saw what the Mark was doing to him when he killed Abbadon. Remember that? And yet, not three weeks later, you were still willing to use him to finish the job with Metatron. If you can't play nicely with your toys, Sammy, you shouldn't be surprised when someone takes them away and gives them to someone else who will."

"You - !"

"What? Let's be realistic here, you moron. Even if you do track Dean down, which is made somewhat difficult by the fact that Dean wants nothing to do with you and is actively avoiding you and your self-righteous policing, the fact of the matter is that big brother is gone. He died in that warehouse. The Dean that's with me wants nothing from you except that you leave him the hell alone."

Sam smiled without humor. "You're a liar."

"No, darling, I'm not. I never have been. You, Castiel, even Dean in the past – all of you would _like_ me to be a liar because then you wouldn't have to acknowledge the ugly truth when I hold the mirror up to your faces." Crowley's voice smooths out, as if pushing down his uncharacteristic anger. "I've been more than generous with you in the past, Sam Winchester. But if you come anywhere near Dean, I'll take care of you permanently this time."

The gauntlet was thrown and Sam picked it up eagerly, biting out, "He's not your _pet_!"

"My pet? He's my best friend. And as his friend, I'm telling you to stay away from him."

"Don't you pull that altruistic bullshit with me, you bastard! You want Dean for something and you think you can control him. You did this to him and eventually you're going to realize you're in over your head." Even twisted and demonized, Sam was sure of one thing - that Dean Winchester had problems with authority and wasn't going to take kindly to Crowley's inevitable plans for him.

"Such concern for my well-being, Sam. I'm touched, truly," Crowley drawled. "Until such a day actually comes, however, keep your concern to yourself. And back the hell off – no one wants to step in your toxic, quixotic quest."

"I'm going to kill you, Crowley. I swear - "

There was nothing on the other end for a moment but rough laughter. "No you won't. He won't let you." A pause before the tones of an achingly familiar voice could be heard, muffled, over the line and forced Sam to crush the urge to scream into the speaker, as if he could make Dean hear him. Their exchange is muffled before Crowley's voice rings clear over the speaker one last time. "Do I make myself understood?"

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but there was the tell-tale click of the line being hung up, leaving silence in it's wake. He stared at the phone in his hand for another moment before sliding it back into his pocket. He had work to do.


End file.
